Uncommunicative, Uncooperative, and Easily Irritated
by SChimes
Summary: Lt. Cooper's warning came true: there were some pretty sad after-action times, after all. Only Rusty got to be there for most of it. And it was more grueling and awful than sad, really. Episode tag to 2.17.


**A/N: I don't usually go for episode tags, but this time I just couldn't help myself because RUSTY ! ! Absent the ability to reach through the screen and yell at him myself, this story happened instead. **

**Uncommunicative, Uncooperative, and Easily Irritated**

Rusty was hoping that Sharon didn't know about his field test, but when she heard him walk in and turned around and looked at him, he knew that she did.

His stomach gave a limp sort of twitch, but really he was so exhausted that he didn't even have the energy to dread her lecture.

Detective Sykes and Lieutenant Cooper had worked him through the end of the afternoon and well into the evening, to the point where he thought that getting shot would've been a nice break.

_He's still thinking he's funny_. Lt. Cooper's voice rang out in his head, unbidden, and Rusty course-corrected his own thoughts: no, no, getting shot was _not_ a nice break.

But he _was_ really tired.

He'd driven that car for five hours. Pulling over, pulling back into traffic, circling the block, going from jammed boulevards to narrow side streets and back, using the turn signal, checking the mirrors, keeping track of the cars behind him. He'd stopped at a newsstand for a soda bottle around six and at a gas station around seven p.m., and both times he'd religiously checked the back seat when he'd come back to the car… only to have someone tackle him from one side when he'd started to unlock the door, at the gas station. Then he'd gotten yelled at for not glancing in the right side mirror to make sure no one was lying in wait on the other side of the car.

He'd thought he'd win some points, then, by asking the SIS lieutenant to teach him how to handle himself if someone _did_ attack him for real, but somehow that had _still_ been the wrong thing to say.

"_You don't need to know how to break a chokehold,_" Det. Sykes had railed, "_you need to know how to _follow instructions_ so you don't end up with someone's hands around your throat in the first place!_"

"_Clean those ears, kid." _

"_This guy isn't trying to mug you, he's gonna want to put a bullet in you_. " Det. Sanchez had joined them some time around seven, and he'd brought no relief and only more disappointed looks and terse words.

_"You are _not_ impressing me so far._"

They'd even pulled by a little park just before sunset and he'd done an instructed walk around the 'perimeter' and he'd followed every rule and then he'd _still_ gotten yelled at because he'd looked too obvious about waiting for something to happen!

He'd also gotten yelled at for not dropping fast enough when a car had backfired and it had sounded like a gunshot, and his protest that he'd realized that it was just a car (he hadn't) had only gotten everyone angrier.

_You're already half-dead_, Lt. Cooper had said.

_The way you're acting, I can go tell the Captain to get her mourning clothes ready_, Sykes had snapped.

And Rusty had gritted his teeth and done _more_ driving and signaling and checking, until his hands were cramping on the wheel and he felt light-headed from the constant efforts to focus.

He hadn't eaten anything since the morning (the lunch that Sharon had packed him was still unopened in his backpack, because nerves had had his stomach tied up in knots all day and _at which point,_ exactly, was he supposed to leisurely enjoy a sandwich while waiting for some murderous psycho to come after him?). But when he'd asked if he could at least like, pull into a drive-through diner or something, he'd gotten a gruff monosyllabic _'no'_ from Det. Sanchez.

And on and on it had gone, with more drilling and driving and Sanchez wouldn't even let them stop for another soda bottle, even when Rusty had been sweaty and thirsty after _hours_ of the gruelling SIS routine, and okay, so he'd screwed up but he was _trying_ and what did they _expect_ him to do when they'd threatened _his mom's life_…!

"_There may be a psych eval on the Chief's desk that says you're ready for this, but I'm just not seeing it._"

It had gotten harder and harder not to be angry with all of them, because they were clearly punishing him and did anyone even bother to wonder how he'd _felt_ when they'd threatened his mom? But no, it was all 'do this' and 'pay attention' and 'you're not listening' and any time he'd opened his mouth it had pretty much just made things worse for him.

And they hadn't even taken him home at the end of it. He'd noticed them taking the route to the station, and he'd started to ask why and then Sykes had glared at him from the right front seat and Rusty had closed his mouth again, because after what they'd just put him through, he clearly wasn't welcome to ask any of them for anything else again ever.

He'd dragged himself into the murder room and the second he'd crossed the threshold he ran straight to Sharon's office without so much as a look back at either of the three of them.

He found her standing by the window, and she turned around when she heard him and Rusty knew, by the look on her face, that she was well apprised of the situation.

* * *

Sharon rounded on him with that tight expression and her lips compressed into that thin line and Rusty was mildly surprised when she didn't tear right into him.

C_learly_ she'd been building up to it, her movements and the narrowing of her eyes and the slight flaring of her nostrils all heralding a 'how _dare_ you' moment… but her momentum seemed to derail when she set eyes on him, and he didn't even have the energy to wonder why. All he knew was that he was getting a couple of seconds of reprieve while Sharon worked through whatever had momentarily thrown her, and so he let himself drop into a chair and pulled the small pitcher on her desk toward him to pour himself a glass of water, and only after he'd inhaled that did he dare glance at her again.

Her expression was still frighteningly chilly. "What. Happened."

And from the barely-perceptible twitch of her head, he understood she was referring to his appearance, and he just shrugged dejectedly. He'd made a half-hearted attempt to stop by the bathroom to wash off the sweat and grime, but Det. Sanchez had just barred his way with one arm ("You can do that later.") and Rusty hadn't even bothered to protest because what was even the point anymore?

Sharon's eyes flickered briefly to the murder room, and he knew that Lt. Cooper and the two detectives were out there and they were probably waiting their turn to tell her about the gas station and the park, too, and… she had that look about her, like she was trying too hard to rein herself in, her palms flat against the desk top and her breaths deliberately slow, and…

His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, okay? I… it wasn't like… it wasn't what I'd… they threatened _my mom_, Sharon, okay?" He gave her a pleading look. "There should just be… like, limits, you know, to what they're allowed to …"

"There are no _limits_," she interrupted with a low, harsh growl, "Rusty, this isn't a game for which you get to set _fair-play_ rules." She contained herself again with a rigid motion, clearly not having meant to say anything at all yet, and he nodded almost desperately:

"I know," he promised, "I know, I swear, I get it… I … Sharon, I was – scared, okay? I really thought… " His voice broke, and he could feel his eyes burning, and he looked away. "I… didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry."

She stared at him for another moment, before turning and facing the window again. Rusty sunk deeper into his chair. She was angry with him, that much was clear, _really angry_ because Sharon didn't do the silent treatment unless she was seriously unhappy, but at the moment he was too tired and miserable to figure out a better way to say 'sorry'… and at least the day was over and he was here and that was already the greatest relief ever, even with Sharon's imminent angry lecture.

He slumped over the side of his chair and dug into the backpack he'd dropped on the floor, pulling out his lunch bag. The sandwich inside wasn't exactly in the best shape, but he was really hungry and who knew how long it would be until dinner, and it was like, nine-thirty p.m. or something…

Sharon was still silent and facing the window, but Rusty noticed her arms cross and her shoulders straighten and he knew she was about to say something. "I want you to know," she started in a soft, measured tone, "that I'm not trying to punish you –"

She trailed off as she turned to face him and noticed him with the open lunch bag. She paused for a moment, another undecipherable expression crossing her face, and Rusty winced because did this qualify as being inconsiderate and inattentive, too?

He nearly choked trying to quickly swallow the first bite he'd taken. "I'm paying attention, I swear," he hurried to assure her, putting the sandwich down on top of the brown bag and pushing it away. "Sorry, I was just… there, I'm listening. Sorry."

He fidgeted a little in his chair as her eyes fixed him with a piercing gaze, and he even tugged on his dusty, grass-stained shirt a little and weakly attempted to rearrange his rumpled collar. His stomach growled inopportunely.

Sharon stood motionless for a long moment, looking at him with a grave crease between her eyebrows, and for the first time Rusty felt a pang of a vague, icy fear, because what exactly did she _mean_ by 'not trying to punish him' and – "Sharon…"

Her hands rested lightly on the back of her chair, and he noticed her fingers tense, squeezing slight indentations into the black leather for a few seconds, before they relaxed again and Sharon's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Her head dropped a fraction of an inch too, and somehow there was something different in her gaze now, though he couldn't tell what had changed.

"Leave that," she said in a reserved tone, indicating the sandwich, "it's been out in the heat for too long. You can have the apple. And go get a soda from the break room."

"Okay," the boy agreed, but then Sharon didn't say anything else and he didn't know _what_ to say, because clearly she wasn't done, right?

Her eyes had just flickered briefly to the murder room again, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Det. Sanchez returning his usual stoic expression, and then Sharon broke eye contact and looked at Rusty again, and he still had no idea what he was supposed to say.

"I'm really sorry about today," he ventured eventually, for what felt like his hundredth time saying it. "But I _get_ it now, Sharon, I do, I won't make the same mistake again. We practiced everything today, and I _swear_ I was paying attention, I'll do everything just like Det. Sykes and Lt. Cooper said," he promised, "tomorrow in the park I'll –"

And her eyebrows abruptly drew into a scowl. "You are _not_ going to the park tomorrow."

He trailed off, startled. "What…? What – no, _Sharon_ –" He sounded desperate and she only dipped her chin slightly, with an icy look that just said, 'go ahead, argue with me', and Rusty sat there frozen, not knowing what to do, an entreating look on his face, and he opened his mouth to argue but he knew it was the wrong thing to do, and tears came to his eyes because she couldn't do that, not after just _one day_, and he hadn't know what was at stake and –

"You're not going to the park," Sharon repeated with a stern look, "you'll be spending the day with Det. Sykes again, going over what you were supposed to have known _by today_," her eyes narrowed, "and if that's not enough, you're going to do that the next day too, _every day_," (she overemphasized the words with a warning glare to preempt his protest), "until I'm satisfied that…" Her voice wavered suddenly, and she swallowed. "Until I'm satisfied that you can properly prioritize your safety in this operation. Is that clear?"

Rusty nodded.

She kept the warning look in place for another few seconds, then crossed her arms and leaned back slightly. "You can go get your soda now," she said in the same reserved tone from earlier. "I have a few things to wrap up here, and then we can go home."

"Uh… okay." The boy stood up a little hesitantly, wrapped the sandwich in the paper bag and tossed it in the trash can, then glanced back at her, still uncertain. "I'm ah uhm…" He cleared his throat, and gave her an unsure sort of questioning frown: "So...are we like… okay, now…?"

Again that impossible expression flashed across her face. "Are you planning to further endanger your life on the streets?"

"No," Rusty said immediately, and was a little confused when Sharon's lips pressed together slightly and she exhaled a displeased sigh.

"Go get your soda," she instructed, and the boy finally left her office with one last uncertain look back over his shoulder, and he wondered why Sharon hadn't answered his question... and why she was kind of acting like she had.


End file.
